


Where Is Your Room?

by my_patronus_is_a_goat_in_pajamas



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_patronus_is_a_goat_in_pajamas/pseuds/my_patronus_is_a_goat_in_pajamas
Summary: When watching the last episode of Poldark season 2, I was upset that we were denied any scenes of Caroline and Dwight's hot night at the inn. So I wrote this. 
Summary: Caroline and Dwight go upstairs at the inn and have sex. There are some wistful looks and lovey words too. Probably some purple prose. But yeah, it's mainly last-chance sex before he leaves for the Navy.





	

“Where is your room?”

  
Dwight could only stare at her.

_Where is your room?_

His mind fumbled with the question, but his heart understood at once. The organ seized for a moment, then revived with a singular purpose: pumping desire through every artery, vein and capillary in his body.

There was only one possible response. He stood and offered his hand. The gesture was a bit foolish, really. They both knew his intent in leading her upstairs was anything but gallant. Nevertheless, he could feel no shame. Caroline was pledged to him. Was that not enough to satisfy honor?

After tonight, only God could know if they’d have another chance.

When they arrived at his room, he stepped aside for her to enter, then latched the door behind them. She slipped her cloak from her shoulders and draped it over the room’s lone chair.

He stood a few paces distant, simply looking at her and breathing hard.

He needed a moment to take it all in. And Caroline deserved a chance to refuse.

With a tilt of her head, she looked about the sparsely furnished chamber. “Dwight, we have only a few hours. I hope you don’t intend to spend them _all_ staring at me.”

He laughed a little. “No. No, I don’t.”

In an instant, he’d covered the distance between them, taking her face in his hands and claiming her mouth in a kiss. Her arms went around his neck. The softness of her breasts met his racing heart.

In all their previous encounters, he’d made an effort to guard her innocence. Now he held her tight, letting her feel the firm proof of his desire. She didn’t shy from him. She offered him everything he wished and encouraged him to take more, parting her lips beneath his and twining her fingers in his hair.

Amid all the softness, he felt a scrape against the nape of his neck.

It was the cord he’d tied about her finger as a symbol of their love.

The sensation inflamed him like nothing he’d ever known. He felt possessive, wild.

“Caroline.” He took her waist in his hands, drawing on every bit of restraint he possessed. “You are certain this is what you want? There’s no going back once we’ve done this.”

“Do you think I will change my mind about you?”

“We both know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And as you say…” Her blue eyes met his. “If we do this, there can be no going back.”

His heart was in his throat.

She turned her back to him. “Will you be so good as to help me undress?”

He exhaled in a rush. “Yes. God, yes.”

His enthusiasm was soon doused, however. Her gown had more buttons and hooks than Plymouth had drunken sailors.

Dwight was tempted to simply toss her on the bed and push her skirts to her waist. But she deserved better treatment than that. Tonight, at least.

As he began the careful dissection of bodice, panniers, stays, petticoats, he shook his head. “I’ve performed surgeries less complicated.”

“But none more enjoyable, I hope.”

Once he had her stripped down to her shift and stockings, she turned to face him.

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak.

“Dwight? Goodness, what is it?”

“I’m struck with awe.”

“Oh.” She smiled up at him through lowered lashes. “Is that all? I thought it was something unusual.”

“And now you will be smug about it. We are falling into old habits.”

Her chin was lifted; her complexion was flawless. But her eyes were soft. They held that silent plea for assurance he’d glimpsed in private moments. It was a look he’d come to treasure.

This was _his_ Caroline. The young woman who was not so vain and capricious as she appeared, but vulnerable and unsure. Strangely afraid to confront the goodness in her own heart.

It was a bitter thought he’d clung to in all their months of separation: the true Caroline Penvenen belonged to him. No other man could ever touch her.

And now…here she was. Undressed and breathless in his arms.

Who could have thought it? He, Dwight Enys, had just become the richest man in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

As he slipped the delicate chemise from her shoulder, his hand trembled like a youth’s. Nonsensical. He’d imagined this. He’d dreamed of this. He’d plotted the precise paths his hands would travel as he learned her naked body.

Nothing had prepared him for the reality of Caroline. The sheer assault of her on all his senses. She tasted of tea with honey, and she smelled of roses in the summer sun. When he kissed her neck, her soft gasp of pleasure buzzed down his spine.

Impatient, he tugged on the gauzy linen, exposing her breast. As he palmed the sweet fullness, a pang of longing rattled him in his boots.

Kisses and caresses weren’t enough. He needed all of her against him.

Under him.

Now, if not sooner.

“Lie on the bed,” he whispered.

She did as he bid her. A miracle.

He decided to press his luck. “Remove your shift.”

Now she gave him a rebellious smile. “What of my stockings, Mr. Enys?”

He paused in the act of unbuttoning his vest. “Leave the stockings.”

“As you like.” She slowly drew the shift over her head, then reclined on the narrow mattress in full view.

Merciful Lord.

She was achingly beautiful. Her nipples were as same ruby red as her lips, and her hair gleamed in the candlelight. Taken all together she looked like… like nothing else on earth. An apt comparison didn’t exist. Caroline was his measure of beauty, and the stars in the heavens and all the jewels of the earth could only aspire to approach her.

He blindly wrestled with his clothing, unwilling to pry his gaze away. His naval uniform was new and frightfully expensive. If he thought it would spare him one moment of waiting, Dwight would have gladly ripped it seam from seam.

At last, he’d divested the whole of it. He’d been so busy gazing, he’d failed to notice that she was gazing back. At one eager part of him in particular. Her eyes were wide with an emotion he dared to hope was admiration, but he suspected it was more likely to be concern.

_Oh, my dearest love._

Caroline was proud. She would give every appearance of bravery, and he must be gentle despite it.

He moved onto the bed, giving the mattress time to adjust to his long, heavy limbs. For endless minutes, he simply kissed her, retreating to some ground she would find familiar and safe. Slowly, he began touch her body, skimming his hand down her arm, then tracing the flare of her hip. Patience was a struggle, but winning her heart was his only concern.

She placed a tentative hand to his chest.

“Yes,” he said, hoarse with longing. “Touch me.”

Her caresses were cautious, at first. Then bolder. But though he knew her to be curious, her hands never strayed below his lowermost rib.

“Here.”

He brought her hand to his cock, curling her fingers around his length. Encouraging her to grasp, caress, explore. Aside from reveling in the exquisite pleasure of her touch, he wanted her to be aware. To understand how he was made, and never feel ashamed or afraid. The human body was a wondrous creation—built not only to work, but to dance. To take life in battle, and to create life in bed.

To kiss, touch, embrace.

And to love.

He reached between her legs. He went slowly, teasing his fingertips along her cleft before pressing a finger inside her.

A whimper eased from the back of her throat. Almost a moan. He felt absurdly proud of it.

As he explored her intimate places with his fingers, he mapped the rest of her with lips and tongue. He nuzzled her breasts, pausing to draw one nipple into his mouth. Then the other.

He trailed light kisses down to her navel.

And then lower still.

Startled, she rose up on her elbow. “Dwight. What—”

“Hush. I mean to kiss you.” He slid his thumb over her most sensitive place, circling. “Here.”

“Why?”

“Because I wish it. And because I believe you’ll like it. You must find your pleasure before I take mine.”

This, above everything, was essential. There was no way in hell he was sailing off to war without bringing Caroline to orgasm. He wanted to remember the sounds she made. The flush of her cheeks.

“But…” She wet her lips with her tongue, and it nearly killed him. “Can we not find our pleasure together?”

“Not that way.” He sighed with regret. “Not yet. We can’t take the risk of conception.” He moved lower, settling between her thighs. “Let me be a servant to your pleasure. If you trust me.”

A pause.

“I trust you.”

Her legs parted for him. He kissed her, tenderly at first, and then with purpose, stroking her again and again with his tongue. He would have lapped at her sweetness all night if she needed it, but it wasn’t long before she began to move beneath him, rolling her hips and clutching his shoulders. Her crisis was swift and breathless and beautiful.

Fortunate, that, because he was hard as Cornish bedrock and desperate to be inside her.

“Forgive me, love. I can’t wait any longer.”

He wedged his hips between her thighs, positioned his cock where it most wanted to be, and pushed forward.

She gasped and bit her lip.

He was sorry for her pain, and yet he could not bring himself to apologize. Had she not wounded him first, and even more deeply? As sank into her tight heat in slow, inching thrusts, he was afire with primal satisfaction. This was the vengeance he'd wanted. Possessing her at long last. Making her fully his. Anchoring her with the weight and breadth of his body so that she would never get away from him again.

He thrust once more, burying himself to the hilt. “You are mine now.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “But you are mine as well.”

They began to move together, finding a rhythm that suited them both. When he rode her faster, she arched her hips to match him stroke for stroke. As though they were racing together again on the sands, cutting through the wind and sea spray, each of them unwilling to be outdone.

What a fool he was to think he could ever conquer her.

What a fool he was to ever wish he could.

_“Caroline.”_

He was close. Imprudently close. Withdrawing from her was agony, but he managed it—just barely—shuddering with each pulse of his release.

He collapsed onto the bed beside her, faint with it.

After catching his breath, he found a clean cloth and dampened it at the washstand. Then he returned to the bedside to tend to her, wiping away her virgin blood and his spilled seed.

“You do love to take care of me,” she said.

“I mean to take care of you always.”

“That may be. But I suspect you’ve made a shambles of my hair.”

“For that, I offer no apology.” He laughed softly to himself. “I should have known our lovemaking would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like the most blissful of arguments.” He rose to wash his hands in the basin and dash water over his face. “You delight in teasing. You chide me for anything that smacks of selflessness. You take as much as you give.”

“Yet you love me despite it.”

“No.” He returned to the bed and laid a hand to her cheek. “I love you _for_ it. I always have. Even when I didn’t want to. Surely you must have known.”

“I hoped.” She leaned into his caress. “Dwight, I so dearly hoped.”

  
They talked and embraced, and then they made love again. The second time was slower, both intense and bittersweet. They locked eyes for the whole of it, because locking bodies couldn’t be enough.

Caroline nestled close to him afterward, resting her head on his chest and fighting back a silly tear.

She had no reason to be sad. She'd never felt so safe as she did in his arms.

Nor so very loved.

Before meeting Dwight Enys, she had never allowed herself to hope for this. She expected to be admired by men. Perhaps even adored. However, the world being what it was, she knew she would be pursued for her beauty and fortune, chiefly.

So she gathered the few defenses available to a pampered heiress. She’d crafted her armor from lavish silk and coy smiles and a dyspeptic pug.

Dwight had seen straight through her.

He cared nothing for her money, and he’d never been impressed with her finishing-school airs. He hadn’t courted her at all. He’d made _demands_ of her. Challenged her to be a better, more genuine person. That quality had intrigued her from the beginning—and terrified her, when she realized his devotion would always be divided between her and his work. He would hold her entire heart in his hands, and she would never possess more than half of his.

How foolish she’d been. She saw it now. Even half of Dwight’s heart was worth ten of any other man’s.

And this one night with him was worth a lifetime.

She didn’t want to sleep, but her body betrayed her. She woke to the first glow of dawn through the window.

Dwight was already out of bed, halfway through dressing in his naval uniform. Dust motes swirled and glittered around him, like a halo of military glory.

He smiled at her as he tied his white neckcloth. “Good morning, my love.”

How could he say such a thing? It was not a good morning. It was the cruelest of mornings.

“You should have woken me,” she said.

“And deny myself the pleasure of watching you sleep? Never.”

“You think flattery will earn you forgiveness. You may be right.” She rose from the bed and went to help him straighten his neckcloth. She smoothed his epaulets and ran her hands down his sleeves. “You do look splendid in uniform.”

He took her hands in both of his. All teasing was abandoned, and a dreadful silence swallowed them both.

“Dodge bullets,” she told him. “Duck cannonballs. Wear dry socks, and don’t forget to eat oranges, lest you take ill with scurvy.”

“Have you become the doctor now?

“I have become your wife, in every way that matters. And I do not share your selfless character. You are so dedicated to saving others’ lives. Promise me you’ll take care to preserve your own.”

“I have no intention of dying, Caroline. Not now, when you have given me every reason to live.”

He brushed a kiss to her lips.

It tasted like farewell.

“I must go."

“And I must allow you. I think I have the more difficult part.”

He smiled a little. “No doubt you do.”

He gathered his hat and moved toward the door, turning to her one last time. “Caroline.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t linger to watch the ship sail. You must go to your uncle’s at once.”

 

Two hours later, Caroline stood overlooking the harbor, watching the billowing white sails of Dwight’s ship grow smaller, and smaller still.

Until they disappeared.

She breathed deeply of the sea air, bracing herself. It wouldn’t do to look overwrought.

When she alighted her waiting carriage, a wriggling pug scrambled into her lap. Dear Horace. Always a welcome comfort.

“Now, Horace,” she said, ironing the wrinkles from his funny little brow, “there will be no pouting. If Dwight can be brave, we must be brave in equal measure. Otherwise, when he returns, he will never let me know the end of it.”


End file.
